With eyes closed, I allow my fingers to examine my face; a total mess, unshaven, age-lines taught and drawn from an endless succession of tasks, most left unfinished, and discarded, like old sepia-tone photos torn in half.Or perhaps photos which once contained two faces, but with one cut out, Leaving a hole you can peer through and see the world, framed and in living color

Opening my eyes; a woman sleeping beside me, her nightgown, polka dots on a red background, a gaudy, dreadful piece of clothing, to say the least, Lying there, hating the gown, wondering who the hell she is, and why she’s in my bed

Suddenly longing to touch her, caress her shiny golden hair, kiss those pouting lips, envious of her face, totally free of the age-lines. How fair is that? Has she no unfinished tasks?
Questions invading my mind; Can you hate someone you do not know? Someone you’ve only seen sleeping? Can you love someone whose voice you‘ve never heard? Can you fall in love with a sleeping beauty?

Breathing in the aroma of her perfume, a confusingly familiar smell,  heightening my senses to a fever pitch. My hearing, so acute, I hear the wind, or what at first I think is the wind, but soon realize it is only her breathing. A total stranger stealing my air, utilizing my resources to sustain herself; sleeping like a newborn baby.

Pondering what my next move should be, what she expects of me, perhaps go through my wife’s closet, and find her a more appropriate gown
Maybe I’ll wait until she awakens, so I can see her eyes, wondering if they’re blue, and if, by peering into them, I will see into her soul

My face next to hers, such stark contrast, my age-lines against her smooth, velvety skin. Wishing I had Scissors, I’d cut out her face, and peering through the hole, I could see the world, framed and in living color

Robert C. Taylor